


Cross Our Hearts

by Assassin_J



Category: Assassin's Creed, Bloodborne (Video Game), Dishonored (Video Games), [PROTOTYPE], inFAMOUS: Second Son
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, Game Dialogue, Gen, M/M, Morning Cuddles, Multi, No Bloodborne Spoilers, One Shot Collection, Threesome
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-02
Updated: 2018-10-02
Packaged: 2019-07-04 17:24:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15845901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assassin_J/pseuds/Assassin_J
Summary: One-shot collection for the Cross Our Hearts prompt challenge.





	1. Day 1: Touch

"Can you touch my nipples?" Desmond asked. His voice was soft and tired, thanks to the generous foreplay he'd been getting for the last forty minutes.

Delsin scooted up on the bed. "Boo-boop," he laughed, poking.

Alex lifted his face from Desmond's thighs. "He doesn't mean like that, doofus. Touch 'em sensually."

"I know, I know," Delsin said, laughing again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was busy at convention orz


	2. Day 4: Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harlan Schut Cunningham is the protag of Bloodborne. Mild homophobic language.

Fighting in this cursed place took a lot of getting used to, even for the seasoned fighter that Harlan was. The firearms available lacked the power to adequately pierce the thick skin of most of the enemies; a gunshot would throw a beast off for a moment, maybe open up a split second of counterattack opportunity, but it wouldn't deal anywhere near the damage that it would to a human. 

He'd tried unarmed combat on the snarling black wolf-beast that attacked him when he first awoke here, and that had ended in his bloody death. 

When the critters in the Hunter's Dream gave him a choice of weapon to return with, he picked the axe, and that served him much better. It was quite a different weapon than any he'd used before. 

Through painful trial and error, he learned the ways of this nightmare world. 

Whenever he found a human unafflicted by the beast sickness, he asked if they had met or heard of Arend, or Eric, or Emmett, or Susan, or any other of his Assassin comrades. But mostly Arend. 

They never had any information. Some wouldn't even converse with him, deeming him a "wretched outsider". But he never stopped asking. 

The architecture of Yharnam wound around in a labyrinth, paths twisting back and underneath other paths. But the dream critters had given him a journal, and he jotted his notes and maps in there, and kept it tied onto his belt with a rope. 

A dozen deaths later, the book was torn off him by a great gray hulk of a beast, and it skidded across the cobblestones and over the edge of a cliff. Harlan had no time to think about recovering it now, as the beast was gearing up to strike him again. It had a large block of concrete clutched in one hand, bringing it down with a roar. 

Harlan rolled out of the way and swung his axe in a fast combo across the brute's back, tearing gashes in its ragged clothes and ashen flesh. The brute reminded him of the ignorant jocks back at school that called him pansy and sissy and all those other words. It roared in pain and kicked at him, but Harlan dodged the attack and stabbed the axe into its side. The brute gurgled and fell over dead. 

Something shining fell from the breast pocket of its tattered shirt. After glancing around to ensure no other beasts were lurking, Harlan bent and picked up the item. 

It was multiple items, actually; three coins of varying metals. The size and weight of them reminded Harlan of euros. He clenched his fist around the coins and muttered, "God damn I miss you." 

 

* * *

 

 

When he returned to the Hunter's Dream, the critters gave him back the notebook, with all his writing and maps still inside. He laughed softly. "That's handy." 

"Welcome home, good hunter," the doll greeted him as always when he approached her. "What is it you desire?" 

"My husband." 

"I know not where you could find him," she said, the same words she'd told him many times before. 

He shrugged and sank onto on the workshop steps. "Yeah. I know. I'm just... so lonely." He took his hat off and fiddled with the flimsy brim. "All this fighting, but it feels so pointless. It's not toward some purpose anymore." 

"Good hunter, do not let your spirit be crushed," the doll said, kneeling to meet him. "Persevere, and grow strong with blood, and you will see the dawn at the end of it all." 

Harlan sighed heavily. 

The doll closed her eyes and clasped her hands in prayer. "O Flora, of the Moon, of the dream." 

A weak beam of sunlight cut through the fog surrounding the dream island. Harlan set his hat over his face to block it. 

"O little ones, O fleeting will of the ancients. Let the hunter be safe, let him find comfort. And let this dream, his captor, foretell a pleasant awakening, and be one day a fond distant memory." 

Harlan sighed again. "I'm not much for prayers, but I 'preciate the sentiment. Thanks, doll." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternate concept I thought of in the middle of writing this: Harlan and Arend are _both_ Hunters, and they leave messages for each other with their notebooks.


	3. Day 12: Sick

"There is a sickness here in Yharnam," the man said in a breathy rasp. "It steals the humanity from those it afflicts."

At the word "humanity", Alex shifted and looked away.

"So how can we stop it?" Desmond asked, leaning in and hanging on the wrought iron bars over the window.

The old man laughed bitterly, which quickly turned into a cough. "This town is cursed. You should plan a swift exit."

"I don't even know how we entranced this place," Desmond said, "so how the fuck do you suggest we exit?"

The old man coughed again, and then sighed. He said no more.

Alex touched Desmond's shoulder. "To escape this dreadful Hunter's Dream, halt the source of the spreading scourge of beasts," he said, quoting that scrap of paper from the workshop.

Desmond let go of the window and exhaled. "Well fuck me. It's another goddamn prophecy quest I gotta do."

Alex took his hand. "But we're doing it together this time," he said with a tiny smile.

"The Assassin and the Virus against the Scourge of Beasts," Desmond said.

"I think we've got a good shot at it."

"...Yeah, I think we do." Desmond gave him a smooch, and then got out his threaded cane as they both turned to head down the street.


	4. Day 18: Alarm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rebecca/Dana cuddle snippet.

_**BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEE— smack!** _

"Hey... don't hit it."

"S'fine," Rebecca mumbled, scooching back into her warm spot amongst the covers. "If I broke it, I'll fix it."

Dana went "Hnnhhh," placated by Rebecca's arm nestling under her breasts.

Rebecca put her face in Dana's hair and inhaled the gentle scent.

"Stop iiit," Dana said with a laugh. "I need a shower."

"No," Rebecca retorted playfully. "You smell nice."

"I needa get up."

Rebecca squeezed Dana's hand. "No you don't."

"Mmmhh. Gotta work on the data extraction for Mr. Miles before-"

"Shh, it's fine, can have an extra ten, twenty minutes in bed. And you don't gotta call him 'Mr. Miles', euch."

Dana laughed again, a soft, muffled chuckle. "All right." She squeezed Rebecca's hand back.


	5. Days 21 & 22: Video & Dirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex/Eugene

"You ever watch any of those dirty animes?" Alex asked one night while watching Eugene play Bloodborne.

"D-dirty animes?"

A low chuckle rumbled from Alex's throat. "Don't act like you don't know."

Eugene blushed, but he couldn't help smiling a little. "Yeah, I've watched some," he admitted.

"What's your favorite?" Alex asked, scooching closer on the sofa.

Feeling Alex's breath on his ear, Eugene fumbled a bit on the controller, and accidentally drank his last Blue Elixir. "Well if, if I had to pick a favorite... I- I guess Urotsukidouji? It's like the classic one."

"Uro too what? What's that about?"

"There's this legendary evil demon guy," Eugene said, exiting the game so he wouldn't fuck anything else up. "He's reborn every three thousand years, and uhh... It's been a while since I saw it, I don't entirely remember the details."

Alex laughed and leaned in closer. "The plot wasn't the reason you watched it anyway, right?"

Eugene's blush intensified. "Actually," he said, putting the game controller back on the shelf, "now that I think about it, Adventure Kid was better."

"Adventure Kid?" Alex guffawed. "That sounds like a fuckin' Digimon spinoff, not a sex anime."

"Oh there was sex in it, all right." Eugene grinned. "Tentacle sex, even."

"How'd you know?" Alex stroked a finger along the line of Eugene's jaw. "How'd you know the reason I asked you this question tonight?"

Eugene touched Alex's other hand, rubbing it gently. "Weelll you basically are a tentacle monster. Though much nicer than the ones in anime."

"Yeah, I bet." Alex gave a quick kiss to Eugene's neck. "You wanna go on an adventure tonight, kid?"

"Don't call me kid," Eugene retorted with a wink and a smirk. "But yes. Absolutely yes."


	6. Day 23 & 24: Space & Cut

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AssCreed with a Dishonored twist, featuring Clay as the Void God.

The sky was dark, except for a foggy sun in the distance. The ground was dark, what little of it there was, uneven rocks floating in space. Desmond's white shirt stood out like a beacon. Specks of something glinted and danced through the air. He hugged himself for protection against the cold breeze.

But it wasn't actually cold. It was more like... the absence of any temperature at all. 

"Where is this?" he muttered to himself. "Am I dreaming?" His tentative steps across the floating rock echoed stiff and loud in the air.

It sure seemed like a dream. Up ahead, a road sign said Church Avenue. But it was standing at an odd angle, jutting out like a hangnail from the basalt ground.

"Well, better this than some of the fucked-up Assassin nightmares." Desmond sighed. "So glad to be away from that place." That was years ago now, but he still sometimes woke in the night with the memory of his father's voice barking orders. He sighed again and reached out to touch the street sign. It wasn't cold either. Just flat and plain, with a weird sort of resonance underneath.

A fog lifted, revealing Prospect Park in the distance. Desmond went ahead to check it out. It wasn't the normal Prospect Park. There was a trio of people jogging with their dogs, but they were frozen in place, two of them stuck laughing at something, the third one stuck in the act of smacking a mosquito on his arm.

"Maybe I should get a dog," Desmond said. A second later he realized: "Shit, can't have one in the apartment. Is this dream telling me to move out?" he said, laughing.

The laughter echoed creepily, ringing back inside itself and becoming a new sound halfway akin to sobbing. Shaken, Desmond covered his ears and fast-walked past the joggers and dogs.

After a bit, the sobbing was drowned out by a car's engine roar, and then by the harsh clomp of military boots marching. Then the noise fell away again, thank fucking christ. Desmond found a park bench and tried to sit down, but it was like that street sign, at an odd angle.

Desmond plopped himself on the ground instead.

A moment later he jumped up again, suddenly alert. Just now, he had a hunch someone was watching him.

"Desmond Miles," said a voice, echoing and smug and mildly metallic. "Your life's a pretty nice one right now, isn't it?"

Turning sharply to his left, Desmond saw the person speaking. He was a man in his thirties with creamy-beige skin and dirty-gold hair and crumpled-brown clothes.

"It’s been fun, huh? Pouring shots for bankers and celebrities." The man smirked, teeth glinting in the dark. "You're wondering who I am."

"I, uh..."

"They call me Sixteen," the man said, and then he flickered suddenly, glitch-like, blue and black pixels fuzzing around him. He let out a quick laugh that rang through Desmond's bones, and then he was no longer there.

"Sixteen?"

"I lost my real name." Desmond spun around. Sixteen was behind him now, perched on the uneven bench. "Lost. Cut away. Washed away, in the red red maelstrom... So much noise. Do you hear it?" He cocked his head. "All the voices. All the people we’ve ever been."

"Uh...huh," Desmond said, backing away.

But Sixteen sprang forward and got hold of his hand. "Desmond, listen. We’re doing our best to stop them." He laughed a little again, but this time it wasn't harsh like before. It was more of a sad laugh. "Yeah, doing our best."

"Okay," Desmond said. This felt odd for a dream. He heard a river rushing by in the distance, just exactly like the river that ran past the training grounds at his birthplace.

"They never told you much, did they?"

"Uh."

"They should have told you more."

Desmond felt his heart twist. He remembered his mother's voice. _They’re looking for us, and they will not stop until every one of us is dead._

"You've been lucky," Sixteen said, looking down at Desmond's hands. He loosened his grip. "But that’s about to change. That's why I had to find you."

"What? What's going to happen?"

Sixteen passed his palm over the back of Desmond's hand. 

A sharp chill ran through his skin, like ice-cold water running in jagged rivulets. He pulled his hand away and stared. A dark brand was forming, sizzling with energy; a stylized eagle merged with the letter A.

"Live by the Creed, Desmond," Sixteen said breathily. "Empower yourself."

And then Desmond woke up, clammy with sweat head-to-toe. "Fuuuuuuck," he grumbled. "It was a fucking Assassin dream after all!" He glanced at the clock, tossed his covers off and headed to the bathroom to shower.

The moment he touched the faucet, though, he froze.

"Oh my... fucking god," he said slowly.

The jagged brand was there, smack-dab on his left hand.


End file.
